


Your One Life Stand

by slash4femme



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, French Revolution, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, World War I, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: Bastille Day is not one of Arthur's favorite holidays.





	

Arthur really doesn’t look forward to July 14th that much, _le quatorze juille_ Bastille Day to the rest of the world. Not that Arthur has anything against the day per say. Ordinarily it would be just one more day he’d spend doing paperwork and wondering if they would ever get around to installing air-conditioning in his office. Of course it’s not though because Arthur has the misfortune to be acquainted with, _married to_ , Francis Bonnefoy. Francis is always something of an emotional mess on this day.  
  
On the surface Francis is all bubbling excitement, running around his apartment picking out what he’s going to wear, doing his hair, singing to himself under his breath. He goes to the parade of course, always dragging Arthur with him whether or not the British military has been invited to take part. Since they have been invited for the last couple years Arthur can no longer put up quite as much of a fuss as he used to. Although he does try again this year.  
  
After the parade it's back to Francis’ apartment where Francis gulps down a glass of wine, refuses to touch any of the food Arthur shoves at him and they both change again. Then it’s to the president’s garden party at the _Palais de l'Elysée_. This event alone would have made the day one of Arthur’s most dreaded. There are very few things he likes less than sipping wine and uncomfortably hobnobbing with French dignitaries while Francis tries to charm everything that so much as moves within his line of vision. It’s afterwards though that Arthur really dreads the most.  
  
“We should go out.” Francis is practically pacing around his apartment and he keeps ringing his hands together without seeming to realize he’s doing it.  
  
“No.” Arthur leans back on the couch and pulls off his tie. This year had been particularly awful, the weather had been nasty, spitting rain the entire day, and drenching everyone in a sudden downpour halfway through the parade. The political climate hadn’t been much better with a sense of unease hanging over everything. Arthur could practically smell the impending scandal and corruption allegations in the air.  
  
“A nice dinner-” Francis is saying pacing back across the room again Arthur growls and stands up physically blocking his path,  
  
“sit down Francis.” He says and Francis stops to stare at him and Arthur sighs and pulls his fingers through his hair, “just, just stop-”

He reaches out grabbing Francis’ arm and the other man almost flinches away from, him catching himself in time.

Arthur guides him to the couch and sits down, pulling Francis down next to him, “let’s stay in,” he says softly, “We can have something delivered and just-” he searches his mind for something they might both enjoy doing, “we can watch something-a movie” He searches his mind for a movie they’d both want to see, “- you can choose.” He finally allows and resigns himself to watching something, long and tedious, in French.  
  
“but there will fireworks and parties.” Arthur grips Francis’s chin and turns the other nation’s face towards him and kisses his lips to get him to stop talking.  
  
“and I said no. Francis let’s just spend tonight quietly.”  
  
Francis pulls away from Arthur, laughs, a high nervous laugh that sets Arthur’s teeth on edge. “but _mon petite_ -”  
  
“Fine.” Arthur throws up his hands and shifts back away from him on the couch, “do whatever you want Francis, go out, party, get drunk, shag whomever you like.” He stands up and heads for the bathroom fully intending to lock himself in there so he doesn’t say that he hates seeing Francis like this. That he knows Francis is suffering even if the other nation won’t admit it. Today is a day France celebrates French nationalism and so of course Francis is supposed to be happy. He is supposed to be proud, proud of his people, of his history. Today also commemorates the storming of the Bastille, the beginning of the France’s Revolution, the parade they’d just been to was specifically commemorating those who fought in the Second World War, and Arthur knows Francis is a mess. Arthur had seen how tightly Francis had gripped the arms of his chair during the parade, how he’d flinched when the planes had gone overhead.  
  
It is 2010, most people can’t remember the Second World War, much less the Great War, much less the sodding French Revolution, but Francis of course can. Francis lived and fought through it all, still has scars all over his body from all of those wars. Arthur can still remember France starved half to death, hair falling out, curled in a ball of incoherent insanity during height of _la Terreur_. Can vividly recall Francis crying on Arthur’s shoulder in the trenches, or how Francis used to wake up screaming night after night in the aftermath of WWII.  
  
Arthur slams the bathroom door, locking it and sits on the lid of the toilet, before sighing and putting his head in his hands. He can feel a headache coming on, and he considers just giving up and going back to London, and letting Francis do whatever the blood hell he wants. After a minute or two there is a knock on the bathroom door.  
  
“ _Angleterre_.”  
  
Arthur sighs, “What do you want?”  
  
“please come out, you’re acting like a child.”  
  
He can practically see Francis, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh is that right?” Yes there is definitely a migraine on the way. “then remind me again which of us is refusing to listening to reason?” His voice is raised only so that Francis can clearly hear him through the door certainly not because the other nation has so quickly succeeded in enraging him.  
  
“Arthur, come out of there.”  
  
“Fine.” Arthur wrenches open the door, coming face to face with a surprised looking Francis. He brushes past the other nation and heads for the couch, grabbing his dress jacket. “I’m leaving. There is plenty of work for me to do in London.” He heads for the door.  
  
“No Arthur!” It’s the pure desperation and fear in Francis’ voice that makes him stop and Francis lunges, grabbing his arm. “please don’t go.” When Arthur turns back around he see that Francis is shaking. “I don’t want to remember.” Francis covers his face with his hands, and Arthur takes a step towards him and reaches out for the other nation.  
  
“I know.” Arthur gathers Francis up and holds him close, “I know, love.” And he does, he knows what this feels the ritualistic ‘celebration’ of the horrors humans, with their so brief lives, quickly forget but nations never do. He thinks of Remembrance Sunday, and holds Francis a little tighter. Francis sighs a little into his shoulder.  
  
“You’re strong.” Arthur tells him softly, strokes Francis’ hair, “that’s what today’s really about isn’t it? How strong and stubborn, and bloody un-destroyable you are.” He looks up at the ceiling and mutters, “I should know.” Under his breath, and Francis gives a small watery laugh.  
  
“ _Oui_ ” He pulls away from Arthur enough to rub his hands over his face. “I always survive in the end.”  
  
“yes, you do.” Arthur keeps his hands lightly around Francis’ waist, but looks away from the other man feeling a little awkward about how many times in the past Francis has had to survive him.  
  
Francis leans forward and kisses him lightly on the cheek. “ _Merci_ ”  
  
Arthur humphs at him and turns away, moving to the couch and flinging his jacket back down on it. “if you really want to go out to dinner we still can.” He undoes his cuffs and rolls them up anyway. Francis walks across the room and sinks down on the couch next to where Arthur is standing.  
  
“ _non, Angleterre_ , we will stay in tonight,” he gives Arthur a small smile, “And I will cook for us both. A gift to your poor, abused stomach, yes?”  
  
Arthur seriously considers hitting him.  
  
A little while later he’s setting the table watching Francis move around the kitchen, hair tied back and apron on. It’s strange, he thinks, and a little bit perverted that he finds Francis really, very attractive like this. Francis is always attractive of course, always has been, even when covered in mud and blood, even when on the battlefield, Francis always has captivated Arthur. He has always loved Francis when he is fierce, wild and dangerous, holding Arthur by the throat, crushing the life out of him, or standing over him with a sword like some angel of death. He loves Francis like this too though, maybe more. Francis tucking a stray curl behind his ear while he moves around the kitchen holding a pairing knife looking for the onion he’d taken out to cut for dinner.  
  
Arthur pours them both wine and sits down at the table, head pillowed on his arms while Francis cooks. Francis seems so much more relaxed now than he did earlier today, but the edge is still there, the feeling of pain, Arthur can’t seem to erase no matter how hard he tries.  
  
It occurs to him, as it does from time to time over the last hundred years or so, that he’s in love with Francis. He takes a sip of wine and shakes his head to dispel that thought, and he’s happy now that they’re like this, but is not ready to say . . . _that_. Maybe one day, right after Alfred colonizes the moon. He chuckles a little at the thought of Alfred colonizing something that had neither natural resources nor a population as Francis carries a large dish over to the table.  
  
He raises his eyebrows at Arthur and the other man shrugs, “just thinking about Alfred.”  
  
“Ah.” Francis gets that neutral look on his face he does whenever Arthur talks about America, before gesturing to the dish on the table “Dinner.” He walks back into the kitchen and comes out with several more, smaller dishes.  
  
They sit and eat and don’t talk that much although neither seems to mind and afterwards Arthur does the dishes without being asked. Francis moves around the kitchen putting things away and Arthur washes off a plate watching the other nation idly. Francis has a nice arse. Francis’ arse is round, pert and firm, and Arthur knows from experience that it fits nicely in his hands if he splays his fingers out. Yes, he’s always been fond of it.  
  
Arthur catches himself in time to keep from dropping a wine glass back into the sink. He feels pleasantly warm all over, and bugger . . . he hadn’t come here to do this. He looks back over his shoulder and Francis is watching him this time, leaning one hip against the counter hand on the other hip. Arthur smiles a little timidly, and puts the last dish in the drainer. He moves across the kitchen to stand in front of Francis and slips his arms around Francis' waist. It is Francis who tips his face up and Francis who kisses him. Arthur makes a small happy sound into the kiss and breaks it only when Francis takes him by the hand and drags him towards Francis’ bedroom.  
  
Francis pushes him down on the bed and kisses him again, this time harder with teeth and tongue, and desire behind every movement. Arthur’s arms go around Francis’ waist and Francis’ hands cup Arthur’s face. They are a tangle of limbs and uncoordinated movements, and Arthur loves this the best. Loves the fact that Francis doesn’t plan everything out when they are together this way. Francis never tries to impressive him in the bedroom and Arthur has always been grateful for that. They simply move against each other.  
  
Francis starts trying to pull Arthur’s shirt off and Arthur’s hands go to Francis’ pants. They keep getting distracted by flashes of skin. Francis gets distracted halfway through pulling off Arthur’s dress shirt by the small trail of soft blond hair on his lower stomach and ends up mouthing across it, pulling at Arthur’s pants instead. Arthur very much wants Francis’ shirt off so that he can tease at the other nations sensitive little nipples, but instead only manages to wrestle Francis’ pants off. That’s all right though, because Arthur likes the strong curves of Francis’ thighs, and the heaviness of his cock too.  
  
He pulls Francis’ body around sharply so that he can position himself between the other man’s legs and get his fingers and mouth wrapped around Francis’ cock at the same time Francis smoothly swallows Arthur down to the root. Arthur moans in a muffled sort of way, reaches one hand up to cup Francis’ perfect arse, tries not to thrust his own hips. Francis is large, hot and firm in his mouth. Arthur sucks and runs his tongue over as much as he can at this angle. His fingers alternate between holding Francis steady and gently pumping up and down his shaft, while every once in awhile Arthur’s hand drifting up to touch and stroke Francis’ balls. Francis mouth is so hot and so talented, his tongue running along all the right places, his fingers spread Arthur’s thighs wide and stroke up and down the cleft of his arse, stroke at the fragile skin around his hole. Arthur moans again and Francis pulls back from Arthur’s cock and gropes around and swears, voice slightly strained as Arthur’s runs his tongue around the head of Francis’ cock.  
  
Then Francis’ mouth is back and Arthur closes his eyes and digs his fingers into the muscular arse cheek he’s been fondling. Francis’ fingers circle Arthur’s opening again, pressing but not penetrating, slick with lube, and Arthur makes a happy little sound around the cock still in his mouth. Without warning two fingers press into him, causing a hard ache, the feeling of being full and . . . _Oh God_. Arthur has to pull away from Francis, whole body arching, crying out as he comes, biting down on his own fist.  
  
He collapses onto his side and Francis does too. After a few moment Arthur collects himself enough to nuzzle at Francis’ thigh. Francis props himself against the headboard of the bed and spreads his legs as Arthur craws between them, the smaller nations movements slightly hindered by the dress shirt still caught around his arms. He wraps his hand around Francis’ cock again, licks along the head. He watches the other man shudder and bite as his knuckles before Arthur’s takes as much into his mouth as he can. This angle is much better and he can bob his head, allowing his mouth to slide up and down, keeping the suction firm. Francis pets one hand through Arthur’s hair and the other nation can feel that Francis’ fingers are shaking a little. Arthur’s other hand comes down, cups Francis’ balls rolls them, squeezing just a little and Francis swears in French and comes. Arthur swallows convulsively, keeps his mouth on Francis, suckling a little until the other nation goes soft. He pulls back wiping one hand across his mouth and Francis watches him out of half-lidded eyes. Arthur finally takes the damn shirt off and throws it on the floor before curling up next to Francis.  
  
Francis’s hands moves and he strokes across Arthur’s shoulders after a little while. They lie together in silence. Arthur is just starting to feel awkward like he should say something or maybe get dressed when Francis bends over and nuzzles him a little bit.  
  
“We’ll sleep now.” Francis’ voice is deep and relaxed and Arthur sighs a little bit and rolls over onto his back flinging an arm across his face. “Then we’ll watch that film you promised me.”

Arthur cracks his eyes open and moves his arms enough to peer at Francis, and Francis smiles.  


**Author's Note:**

> \- Bastille Day is celebrated on July 14th. It originally commemorated the storming of the Bastille an action that many point to as the beginning of the French Revolution. Mostly though from what I can tell it celebrates French patriotism, and military strength. The Military parade that takes place on July 14th often includes representation from other nations that have supported France during wartime. 
> 
> \- An article about this Bastille Day parade specifically mentions nations that fought with France during WWII. 
> 
> \- La Terreur or The Reign of Terror marked the height of public executions during the French Revolution. 
> 
> \- Remembrance Day is when The United Kingdom officially commemorates those killed during WWI.


End file.
